by Claudia King
She did not get far. Behind her, raven hair swirling from beneath her headdress in the night's breeze, the den mother stood.
"Do you see why you do not belong with us now?" she whispered, gazing into Netya's soul with her dark eyes. "You are a sheep among wolves, lost from her flock."
With a sob Netya made to run past her, but Adel caught her wrist and yanked her back, hard fingers digging into her skin with a grip every bit as strong as Khelt's.
"You don't run, sheep, you watch." Adel twisted Netya's struggling body to face the circle of torches again, moving behind her and gripping her by the chin. "This is what these people are like," she hissed in her ear. "Savages who fight and take. Did you forgive them so quickly for what they did to you?"
Netya found it hard to breathe. Her throat was tight and painful, her cheeks wet with tears. She was trapped in more ways than she had ever felt trapped before. She had no power over these people, and no strength to fight back against Adel's grip. Her panicked thoughts could settle on only one thing that Fern had mentioned. The power she held through the colour of her dark hair.
She didn't know what she expected, whether Adel would fear her, or respect her, or empathise somehow, but she clutched her braid in both hands and prayed that something, anything, would happen to release her from this moment.
"Spirits help me," she whispered.
"The spirits did not help me when I was taken from my pack," Adel said. "No more than my own kin. They gave me up as though my black hair was a prize they could trade away for their own happiness. Look at them!" She shook Netya sharply, fingers digging into the girl's cheeks as she forced her to watch. "These are the Moon People. Barbarians who would play with lives. Yours and their own. Do you see now?"
Netya saw more blood on the grass. The cheers of the pack rang in her ears. Khelt's face was a blur through her watery eyes.
"I see," she sobbed.
Adel murmured something. Whether the sound was satisfied, amused, or bitter, Netya could not tell.
"Then tell me," the den mother said. "Will you run home, little sheep? Or will the wolves have their meal?"
—9—
Fight or Flight
Adel's question tore at Netya, dragging her between the pull of one fear and another. If she left, they would catch her. But what if they didn't? What if Khelt let her go? She could scavenge food from the undergrowth like Fern had shown her. If she kept going east, surely she would find her way back to the forest eventually.
If she stayed, what then? Could she sleep comfortably knowing the violent customs the Moon People indulged in? If she crossed some unknown boundary, would she be the one whose blood was spilled on the plains next time?
The growls of the wolves intermingled with the cheers of the pack as Erech and Nathar fought. Netya's impulse was to run, to get away from the horrible sights and sounds and put as much distance between her and them as she could.
"Let go of me!" she cried out, twisting in Adel's grip. To her surprise, the den mother released her. Netya spun around, glaring at the older woman through tearful eyes. "Do you really hate me so, to torment me like this?!"
"Only as much as the moon hates the sun," Adel said, fixing Netya with her powerful eyes. "The two do not belong together."
Perhaps it was only the stubbornness of her youth, but had it not been for Adel's interference Netya might have made a very different decision that night. She was afraid, but the cruel way the den mother had made her watch the fight also made her angry, and that anger bound her in place.
"I will not run only because you wish it," she said.
Adel pressed her lips together tightly, gazing down at Netya with a look as hard as glass. "I tried to show you the truth here tonight," she said. "Remember that." Then, without another word, she turned and disappeared into the night.
It took Netya a long time to stop shaking. Her fingers were curled tight into her palms, nails digging painful impressions into her skin. When she closed her eyes she felt faint. Whether her decision to stay put had been correct or not, she had made an enemy of the den mother in making it. The fresh smell of coppery blood in the air made her realise just how fragile her life might now be. She was surprised to find that the fear made her reckless. Anger felt better than fear, and she fed it until her tears burned hotter, her heart beat faster, furious at everyone who had brought her this far against her will.
She heard people talking nearby, and realised that the fight must be over. If she turned her anger on the others, would she be made to pay for it? At that moment, she did not care.
A hand gripped her arm, and she turned to see Khelt standing in front of her. In an instant he had brought his hand to her chin, tilting it so that he could see her tears.
"What has upset you?" he said with a frown.
Netya glared at him. "You are barbarians."
"The fight was not to your liking?"
"Who could ever like such a thing?! Watching your own tear each other apart like beasts!"
"You will be silent," Khelt said sharply as her raised voice threatened to attract the attention of the others, then his tone grew softer. "And you will speak to me of this in private, where I will not be forced to discipline you for addressing your alpha so."
Netya forced her trembling body to remain still, biting back the urge to retort. The alpha's words reached through her fog of anger, reminding her of the fear. A fear she would be wise to listen to at that moment. The time to run had passed, and from Khelt's expression she had no doubt that he would follow through on his threat.
She worked her jaw back and forth and kept her mouth shut, but she refused to look away from him until he turned and tugged her along by the arm. He dismissed the questions of his pack with a wave of his hand and some light comments, behaving for all the world as though nothing was amiss.
The group were filing back toward the camp now. Netya was not sure whether to be relieved or further aghast when she saw the two combatants, Erech and Nathar. One of them had blood on his face and was limping, but a group of excited friends bore him up, matching his laughter with their own as they walked on ahead of the others.
The other male, clearly the loser of the fight, was in far poorer shape. He sat on the grass at the edge of the ring of torches being tended by several of the others, Fern included. Her male companion from earlier seemed quite unhappy that her attention was now focused on someone else. The loser's hair was soaked with blood, the cuts of claw marks lining his scalp all the way down to his ear, which was torn and ragged. The injury was bleeding profusely, painting a cascade of red down the young man's shoulder and across his chest.
"Will he live?" Netya said, her feelings forgotten for a brief moment as her heart went out to the wounded man.
Khelt stopped them out of earshot of the others and gave her an impatient look. "Nathar will not suffer long from a few cuts. Erech may be a fool, but he would not kill one of his own brothers."
"That injury will leave him marked."
"Yes, it will," Khelt said. "And when he is an old man, settling the disputes of other foolish youngsters, his scars will be proof of his wisdom. He will not forget this, Netya. He and Erech will understand now the consequences they must be willing to face when a man gives in to his anger."
"What if it had been more than a scar?"
Khelt looked as though he was about to lose patience with her, but he paused, exercising his restraint, and when he addressed her again it was in calmer tones. "Your people fear violence, this I understand. For you, Nathar's wounds could lead to sickness, even death. But he will rise tomorrow as strong as he was today. You must trust me when I say he was never in any danger."
Netya hesitated, her anger faltering. "Nobody has ever died from these contests?"
"Not in my pack."
"Does that mean they have in others?"
"Other packs are the business of other alphas. We are as different to them as you are from us."
Netya took a deep breath, heat rising in
her cheeks. She felt nauseous still, but also a little foolish now that she realised just how far she had gotten caught up in her own anger.
Anger makes the world small, until they can think of nothing else.
She covered her face with her palms as fresh tears fell. How true the old man's words had been. Khelt drew her forwards into his arms, and she hadn't the strength to resist.
"I must remind myself of these things while you grow accustomed to our ways," he sighed. "If I had thought, I would have made sure you understood what was happening."
"It is — it is so..." Netya sobbed.
"I will not ask you to approve of what happened," Khelt soothed her. "But it is our way, and there is a wisdom to be found in it."
"The others cheered."
"Rather they cheer for a contest between their brothers than when they take the life of a real enemy. The wolves within us all long for their taste of blood, but we have learned to control those urges. Whatever you think of us, we are not barbarians."
Netya sniffed, longing to believe him. His deep voice was comforting. The way his arms held her made her feel safe from fear.
"Adel would have had me believe you were."
Khelt curled his lip, glaring into the night. "Whatever poison she puts in your ear, you must not pay any heed to it. You are not the first one she has tried to turn against me."
Netya had more questions. The things Adel had said were still raw in her mind. Now more than ever she wanted to know why there was so much bad blood between the alpha and his den mother, but she hadn't the energy to ask further. She was exhausted, wanting more than anything to forget this night and let the refuge of sleep piece her broken thoughts back together.
"I am glad you spoke to me of this," Khelt said. "To hide your feelings would be to foster the same anger that drove Erech and Nathar to fight."
Netya nodded, and allowed him to guide her back toward the camp. She tried not to look at Nathar as they passed by, but out of the corner of her eye she saw that he was smiling. Even in defeat he seemed to have gathered almost as much attention as Erech.
"Go to your own bed tonight," Khelt said. "I am more weary than I thought. I fear sleep is all I can rise to this evening."
Netya could tell he was not being honest, but the gesture warmed her all the same. She was no longer in any mood for lovemaking.
Once they were back on the outcrop he took her to Fern's tent and left her to sleep, returning to join the others as the celebration continued on until the moon was high in the sky.
—10—
The Concubine
It did not occur to Netya until later just how hasty she had been to consider running that night. Khelt himself had asked her, on more than one occasion, whether she was happy with her position and duties to him. If she had simply spoken to him first before letting her emotions run away with her, perhaps he would have allowed her to leave with his blessing, maybe even granted her safe passage back to the village. She did not forget his kindness, but she also worried what it would mean if her request was denied. Then she really would be a prisoner, and any illusion of kinship she might have had with the Moon People would be gone.
For the time being she contented herself with the knowledge that it was a question she did not yet need to ask. When she woke up the following morning her temper had calmed, and she remembered again all of the things that had compelled her to stay in the first place. The ways of the Moon People would take some getting used to, but she was willing to indulge her unease for a while longer yet.
Erech and Nathar were in good spirits in the days following their fight. Both young males had cooled off, and they treated one another with respectful, if curt, behaviour. Netya wondered whether there might have been great wisdom in Khelt's decision to pit them against one another after all. She did not know what traditions they had gone through when they became men, but she recalled how it was only after lying with Khelt that she had felt truly like she had become a grown woman. Perhaps for the young men their fight had held similar significance. The first marked event of their adulthood.
The only thing Netya continued to regret about that night was the way she had spoken to Adel. Now more than ever she feared catching a glimpse of the den mother, especially when she was on her own. She bathed and conducted her private activities as quickly as possible when she was alone, afraid that at any moment Adel might appear to corner her once more.
Thankfully her moments of unease were offset by the pleasures she experienced when Khelt called her to his den in the evenings. Those nights alone would have been enough to convince her to stay, and when she lay in the alpha's furs in the afterglow, her body warm and quivering, she wondered how she could ever leave.
Khelt did not call upon her every evening, but her visits to his den were both frequent enough to keep her satisfied and yet far enough apart to leave her wanting more. Just as he had said, her discomfort lessened each time until she no longer felt any pain at all once he had made her ready for him. He took her hard and often when she was in his bed, but never in a way that hurt her, at least not in the heat of the moment. She was often left sore and sometimes a little tender the following mornings, but if he was ever too rough with her in the midst of their lovemaking he would stop and allow her to recover before continuing. It seemed that in his heart he longed to ravish her with all the strength and passion his body could muster, and yet nothing dulled that passion faster than the knowledge that it was causing her discomfort. He read it in her expression and the cadence of her cries before she could even give voice to it, and then he would stop, his heavy frame heaving atop hers as he rekindled his desire, exploring her body with his hands and mouth until she was ready again.
After he had finished he would often fall asleep with an arm around her, a hand stroking her belly as she felt his essence lingering there. She wondered how long it would take before his seed took root and she began carrying his child. It was another thought so strange to Netya that she did not yet know how to feel about it. She had assumed she would become a mother some day, but that day had existed in a distant future along with all the other mysteries of womanhood. It still did, she reminded herself. It would be many more months, perhaps years according to Fern, before the alpha succeeded in siring an heir with her. It was believed that Netya's kind bore children more readily than the females of the Moon People, but those beliefs seemed to be drawn from old tales of long-dead ancestors, or whispers passed from pack to pack until nobody could remember exactly where or when they had first been told.
Netya did not concern herself with it for the time being. There were many more things she was eager to busy herself with, and each passing day drew them a little closer to fruition.
Learning the language of the Moon People was first among her concerns. Before Fern and the others rose in the early day she made a habit of always listening to the conversations going on around her, paying attention to everything the elders and mothers who shared the morning hours with her said.
It seemed a hopeless task at first, but with Fern's help she began to add a few new words to the list of things she understood, keeping her ears open for the sounds she recognised. Before long she could understand more clearly when a topic was focused on cooking, or hunting, or a specific member of the pack. The details of each discussion were still a mystery to her, but it brought Netya a reassuring feeling of accomplishment every time she picked up on a word she had not recognised the day before.
When she was not in Khelt's bed or warming his lap by the fire she tried her best to be useful to the pack in other ways. It was difficult, especially when most of them could not understand her. She suspected the elders who woke early understood far more of her words than most, but they purposefully ignored her whenever she attempted to help them with their cooking or mending of clothes.
The only person who seemed genuinely grateful for her help was one of the men in charge of tending the few birds the pack kept. It was clear the Moon People had little to no exp
erience in animal husbandry. Even the enclosure for the birds was nothing more than a cave with a row of poorly made wooden stakes hammered into the ground across the entrance, which the animals routinely found their way out of.
Netya showed the animal keeper how to handle his flock so that they would not be agitated by his grasp, and how to bind the wooden barrier more securely in place in a way that would leave the twine less open to being picked at by stray beaks and claws.
It was a small gesture that took no more than a morning, but the man was so thankful that Netya had learned several new words for gratitude by the time he had finished singing her praises. She went away that afternoon with a bowl full of fresh eggs, and it took her a great deal of effort to keep from smiling when she saw the elders staring enviously at her gift.
The small chores here and there helped her to feel at least a little useful in some way, but it was her duties to Khelt that filled Netya with the greatest satisfaction. She began to appreciate just how much of an honour it was to be so highly favoured by him. The wistful glances of the other females followed her every time she headed up the slope to his den, and, though she was still not treated with much warmth and good cheer, a place was always made for her when she came to eat with the others, and she was provided with food and fresh clothing without even having to ask for it.
In return, she made sure she lived to please the alpha. She had never imagined she could derive so much satisfaction from serving a person. It was a strange combination of his natural authority and presence combined with the knowledge of what he had given her, and continued to give her, that no other person ever had. As long as he desired her as his concubine, she felt that a purpose in life had finally been made clear to her.
It was with these thoughts, and in a state of great concern, that she went to speak with Fern when it finally came time for her to bleed that month. No sooner had she found a soft binding of wool to slip into place between her legs than she realised what it would mean for her role as the alpha's consort.
